Roses Are Dead
by SarikoNiri
Summary: Prussia is severely ill. The doctors don't know what's wrong with him. It doesn't bother him though, because he knows exactly what's wrong with him. One day he receives a call from the last person in the world he would have expected to call him: His old enemy, Russia. Oneshot.


I lay in my bed and stared at the ceiling. The last two months had been the most boring and uneventful since the time I got myself locked up in Austria's closet for two days. There were 79 lines in the white ceiling. I knew because I'd been counting them every day since I got here. Two months and I hated every single day. Because no one was there. The nurses were coming and going through the day, but most of the time I was left on my own in the small, white room. It consisted of four walls with a window in East. On this particular day it was snowing outside.  
Aside from the beeping machines attached to me, the only objects in the room were my bed and the tiny night table on my left. In a vase was a bouquet of big, red roses, a get-well present from Austria. That idiot, as if he didn't know I wasn't going to get well.  
I actually missed that wuss and Hungary. Without them and West around, I felt lonely.

I don't like being alone. It gives me time to think about things I'd rather forget. Ghosts from my past that haunt me whenever I stop paying attention to something.

The nights were the worst, especially now that my brother wasn't around. I need company to keep the nightmares away. The nightmares that rip open the wounds on my soul. The silvery scars that cover my body remind me of all the suffering. The screams, the blood, the bodies. The dying, the dead, the women and the children. The reasons why I ended up in here in the first place.

I knew it was coming before the symptoms appeared.

From the very beginning, I knew that it was only a matter of time. When the war had ended, an emptiness had appeared inside of me.

At first, I thought it was only because I wasn't used to eating properly, so I didn't pay much attention to it. But as time went by, it started feeling like a hole in my chest. A hole that grew bigger each day.

I tried to hide it from the others and if you ask me, I think I did a damn good job. Whenever I was around others, I was 'Awesome Prussia", the loud, beer-loving guy with bad timing and too much self-esteem. My little brother bought it. So did all the other countries. All those pairs of eyes that gazed upon me at the meetings, completely oblivious to what I went through alone. That the Prussia they knew had fallen with the Berlin Wall.

One day, the pressure finally knocked me over. In the middle of an argument with Austria, I suddenly felt the world spinning. I couldn't breathe and lost my ground. When I woke up, I was here.

The doctors don't know what is wrong with me. It drives Germany crazy. It doesn't bother me though, because I know exactly what's wrong with me.

My thoughts were interrupted when a nurse entered my room.  
"Mr. Beilschmidt," she said. Right. My human name. "Your hour is open. Do you want me to get you a telephone?"  
I nodded. "Yeah. Whatever."

She disappeared and returned shortly after with an old, green phone of the kind I thought was extinct.  
… Can you say that about a telephone?

The telephone hour was a daily one-hour opportunity where a patient could make or receive calls. I didn't know why I said yes, because no one usually called me. Yet I felt like I had to try today. And it didn't take long before it rang for the first time.

"This is the sexiest person you'll ever meet, what can I do for you?" I said, not even trying to get rid of the monotone, deadpan sound my voice had gotten since I first got here.

"My, you sound like you're in a splendid mood," a slightly sarcastic voice answered. Austria.

"Yeah. It's one hell of a party here. You should stop by and see for yourself," I said. Then I realized how pitiful that sounded and added, "Or maybe you shouldn't. These nurses are pretty wild, and I doubt Hungary would approve of that."  
We talked for a while before he told me to get better and hung up. Well, at least I had a call. I hadn't had any for a week.  
But then it rang again.  
"Dear Vater Fritz," I mumbled and answered. "Prussia talking"

"Brother!" a deep voice said. That was...  
"West! It's been a while now. How are you doing without me around?"  
"I'm doing fine. I'm sorry I haven't been able to call you this past week, but work's been piling up and-"  
"Easy, I get it. It's all right." As if. Screw you, West. I'm rotting here and you don't even have time to make a call?  
"Anyway, how are you doing? Any progress?"  
"They don't know anything." But I do. Can't tell you though.

"I see. I was hoping maybe.. Never mind."  
"I wouldn't get my hopes up, West." I warned him without thinking.  
"Why not? Brother, do you know something?"  
"I know a lot. That's why I'm so awesome. Anyway, don't you have work to do?"  
"Ah, yes.. I do, but-"  
"Then you should get back to it," I said and hung up.  
It hurt me to hang up on him like that, but I couldn't bear listening to him and his hopes when I knew what was going on. As if I could ever tell him the truth.

"Verdammt!" I shouted and fought my urge to break something. I think I would have, if it didn't hurt like shit whenever I tried to sit up. Just then, that god damn telephone rang again. Who the hell would call me other than Austria and West? I thought everyone despised me. No, I knew they did. Nonetheless, I answered it. If anything, then to make the telephone shut up. I felt a headache coming up.

"Prussia," I said. My voice sounded so dead and cold that it even surprised me. Did I really sound like that all the time?  
"Prussia. It's been a while."  
My blood froze. If I hadn't been lying down already, I would have fallen backwards. Why, of all people, why would he call? Why now?

"Russia. What do you want?"  
"That's a cold way of greeting me. Have you forgotten all the time we spent together during the war?"  
"Maybe." The things you did to me are still haunting me. How could I ever forget the scars you left on my body?

"Now I know you're lying. How have you been doing?"  
"Why are you calling me?"

Russia giggled in that creepy, innocent way he always does. "Because I wanted to talk to you. You've persistently been avoiding me since the war ended. And you didn't answer my question."  
"I'm fucking great. Can't you tell just by listening to me?" The sarcasm was dripping from my words, but as usual with Russia, he didn't seem angry.

"You sound terrible," he said. "Nothing like when you lived at my place. Is your condition that bad?"  
"Who told you?" I hissed. The last thing I needed was pity from this guy.

Russia's answer was weird. Instead of a real answer, he recited a poem.

_"Roses are red  
Violets are blue  
One day I will  
Become one with you"_

I frowned. What the hell? I always thought the guy was a nut case, but since when did he start talking in riddles too?

"What's with the poetry? As far as I'm concerned, Shakespeare was British, not Russian. Or am I wrong?"  
"You don't know this game, do you?" Russia said in his carefree, childish way. "When someone makes up a 'Roses are red' poem, you're supposed to make up another one for an answer. You can do that, right?"

Had he been here, I would probably have smacked him. "No, I've never heard of it. Listen, I don't really have time to this kind of-"  
"Oh, but you do, don't you?" Suddenly, Russia sounded serious.  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I asked. I was getting angry with him.

"You're lying. You've got all the time in the world, don't you? If you're really as sick as they say, you must be in bed all the time, right?"  
"None of your god damn business!"  
"Come on Prussia, it's only a poem."  
I sighed. He was right. I wasn't going anywhere. And I was bored.  
"Fine, I'll make a response poem."  
"So I was right. Excellent," Russia answered. Idiot.

_"Roses are red  
Violets are blue  
Why would I ever  
Live with you?"_

Russia laughed again. "Good one, Prussia. But everyone will become one with me eventually, you know that, right?"  
"Yeah yeah and so on and so forth. Look, my hour is up soon, so-"  
"I'm not done yet," Russia said with that serious tone again. I wanted to hang up. But suddenly, I wasn't feeling very good, so I didn't.

"Fine then. Go on."

"_Roses are red  
Violets are blue  
Keep telling yourself  
That no one will miss you"_

"What do you mean?" I asked. I felt sick now. Because I knew where this was going.  
"Poems, Prussia!"  
"Right.. Uhm.." I tried to concentrate. Screw him and his stupid games. But if I hung up now, the nightmares would come. I had to keep talking. Even if it was Russia in the other end of the line.

"_Roses are red  
Violets are blue  
They won't miss me  
And you know it's true"_

They wouldn't. Except for West, but he was my brother, so that sort of didn't count.

"_Roses are red  
Violets are blue  
You may trick them  
But I see right through you"_

He was getting too close now.  
"Enough," I said. "Just get to the point, will you? I'm not in the mood for your stupid games."

Barely had I finished my sentence before I started coughing violently. I'm not an idiot, I realized how bad it sounded and I also knew that it was much worse than it sounded. I looked at my hands. As expected, they were stained red with blood. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and decided to spill it and just get it over with. Maybe then he would finally leave me alone.

"You really are sick, aren't you?" he asked, unusually silent and not with his signature happiness. "What's happening to you?"  
I caught myself smiling and laughed hoarsely as I answered:

"_Roses are dead  
Violets are crying  
I'm in a hospital  
They say I'm dying"_

Russia was silent for a while. The only indication that he was still there was the silent breathing I could hear. Then finally, he said something.  
"You're dying?"  
"I'm dissolving, Russia."  
Silence.  
"I see. I'm sorry," he said.

I snorted. "Like hell you are."  
"I am." Something in his voice told me he wasn't lying. And that made me uncomfortable. Why would he be sorry for me?

"No one likes me. They never have. Don't tell me different now and expect me to believe that you of all people feel sorry for me. Yeah, I've seen it. The looks you all give me when you think I'm not looking. Despise. Annoyance. You think I'm a nuisance. Before the war, I didn't notice a thing. I was too busy sticking to people and boasting with my ridiculous arrogance. A façade of course, but who would have known when I was playing my role to perfection? So now I ask you again, and this time I demand an honest answer from you: Why did you call me?"  
Russia didn't even hesitate before answering.

"I called because I heard that you were sick and got worried. I wanted to hear how you were doing from you personally. People aren't as bad as you make them. Despite what you might think, I'm pretty good at reading people. And they don't hate you. Frankly, a lot of them actually like you. They just show it in their own way. Austria would never boss you around like that if he didn't mean well. And Hungary hits France with her frying pan at least as much as she hits you. It's her way of showing that she cares. And as for Germany, I think you already know that he cares about you, but I doubt that you know how much you actually mean to him. You're his big brother. His other half. At the last meeting he was all quiet and absent-minded. He didn't even yell at France for being late. Whenever we asked him something, he just shrugged and mumbled a one-syllable answer. People do care about you, you've just been too busy thinking about your own insecurities to see it."  
With those words, Russia hung up.

His words hurt me. Because I knew he was right. Maybe I had known it all along. It didn't matter, I said to myself. Because I had to call them and tell them how I felt. I needed them to know that I wasn't the same Prussia any more. That I had changed after the war. I wanted to tell them the truth.

I raised my bloodstained hand to enter the first number. I wanted to call West first.  
But I never got to call him before I had another coughing fit, this one being much worse than the previous one. It shook my entire body, forcing me to curl up on my side in agony. I couldn't breathe. Gasping for air, I lifted my head slightly only to see that my sheets were stained red.

That's when I felt it.

The emptiness inside me had been devouring me since the war ended. And now when I felt it throughout my entire body, I knew it was devouring my heart. I rolled onto my back and looked out of my window. The snow was still falling in big, silent flakes. And as I watched them fall, it struck me:

This was the end. I would never get to tell them the truth. They would never know how I really felt. That I loved them and cared for them and that I knew they cared about me too. How much I appreciated it.

I could never say goodbye.

I felt something run down the sides of my face and into my hairline. Then I realized that I was crying.  
The snowy landscape looked peaceful. I closed my eyes and smiled as I whispered:  
"Goodbye."


End file.
